


A Danger Night

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Protective Mycroft, RE-POSTING, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 04:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17359418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: It's John's wedding day. Sherlock has reached out to his brother but Mycroft has not come to the wedding. But he won't leave Sherlock alone afterwards. And they both get surprised.





	A Danger Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is not actually a new story! In fact it was my first Holmescest story ever, but I took it off the Archive when I started posting "Love Changes Everything". It sort of felt redundant to me after Season 4 had aired. But now that I think (and already did) of writing stories that belong to previous episodes, I thought I re-post this. If anyone is still interested in reading it, I hope you enjoy :) I do plan to write another after-wedding-fic but I kind of like this story.

_“Oh, and by the way, Sherlock, do you remember... Redbeard?”_

_“I’m not a child anymore, Mycroft!”_

_“No, of course you’re not. Enjoy not getting involved, Sherlock.”_

Mycroft didn’t expect an answer to that and wasn’t disappointed. Sherlock ended the call without another word. The older Holmes brother sat in silence for a couple of minutes,  his head rested against the back of the chair, while his breath finally got back to normal after the training. He drank his orange juice up and carefully put his phone onto the table. Suddenly he was feeling ashamed. Why did this always happen? Why could they never have a conversation without trying (and most of the time successfully) to hurt each other?

Mycroft knew it had not been necessary to remind his brother that John Watson was going to disappear from his life. That it would never be the same between them now that John had gotten married. The good old days of adventure and chasing criminals were over for good, no matter what John said. Sherlock was a genius after all and was fully aware of that. And of course he also had to know that the chance had passed to tell John how he really felt about him. Not that he had told Mycroft about his feelings for John but they were so obvious. So was he enjoying the day? Seeing the secret love of his life getting married to this boring woman? See them dancing together? Certainly not. Would he stay to the end and amuse himself with the other people he called his friends for whatever reason? Mycroft doubted it. He did _not_ doubt that this was going to be a danger night once Sherlock had left the party.

*****

Sherlock slowly walked up the steps to his flat. He didn’t bother making light, being able to find the way with closed eyes. The house was silent. As was his flat. His flat. Not _their_ flat anymore. After closing the door behind him he just stood in the dark corridor for a long minute. Then he ripped off all the clothes he so carefully put on in the morning, just leaving them where they fell. A shower. His bed. Sleep. That was all he needed. He never dreamt. He would just fall asleep and tomorrow... To hell with tomorrow. He would deal with that tomorrow.

*****

A quiet noise woke him up not long after he had fallen asleep. The door of the flat had been opened carefully. He was fully awake in an instant, his heart beating fast. Nobody had a key. Except Mrs Hudson. Who would never enter his flat in the middle of the night. Who could never move so quietly, especially not in her now certainly drunken status. John. Only that John would not show up here. Not in his wedding night. Or probably not at all anymore. Who was coming after him? ( _Moriarty... But he was dead..._ )

All this flew through his brain within a second. He was reaching for the light switch when an all-too-well-known voice said: „Don’t turn the light on, Sherlock. You know I can see well in the dark.”

“You? What are you doing here? And how did you get in?”

“Oh please, brother mine. You’re insulting my intelligence.”

“What. Do. You. Want?” Sherlock felt his heartbeat lightening. Whatever his annoying brother was doing in his bedroom, he was definitely not here to kill him. Only to bother him to death as he always did. It was strange though that Mycroft had still not replied. But then, he didn’t have to. Of course he was here because he was worried about his little junkie brother possibly having overdosed because he could not cope with... whatever this time Mycroft was thinking he had to cope with. Why had he been so stupid to call his brother from the wedding party? Of course this had to alarm him. “Did you lose your speech? How delightful that would be,” Sherlock mocked him. In the dark room he could see his brother’s tall silhouette standing in front of the bed.

“I almost fell over your trousers you so carefully placed on the floor. Poor old Mrs Hudson has to be a saint to deal with your mess every day.”

Sherlock sighed deeply. “Be careful that you don’t stumble over my _pants_ when you leave. Now.” He lay back and put the blanket up to his chin. “Good night, Mycroft.”

Mycroft looked at him without replying. He could barely see Sherlock of course. His eyes were getting weaker with age. Well, what didn’t... He saw enough though to know that Sherlock was not that upset about his more or less breaking into his flat. He was too calm and relaxed for that, albeit annoyed as always when they met. That was a good start. For whatever. The reason that he didn’t answer Sherlock’s question was that he didn’t know himself what he had actually come here for. Comforting Sherlock? Really? Wasn’t that a bit odd given their (carefully put) difficult relationship? He looked at the man in the bed in front of him. Who was not moving. Ignoring him. As usual. Why did Sherlock call him at all hours earlier? He had been very surprised about that. But obviously it had not meant anything. And Sherlock didn’t need him. He was obviously sober and had been already sleeping before he foolishly had woken him up. Mycroft slowly turned to leave the flat. A strange feeling was spreading in his... well... heart. He didn’t want to think about that any deeper.

Sherlock heard his brother turning around without a word, about to leave the still totally dark flat as Sherlock had requested. He raised his head and watched the black silhouette walk away. The shoulders of the tall man seemed to be hanging as far as he could see. He didn’t even carry his umbrella with him! Mycroft looked... sad... and lonely. What a stupid thought. The damn wedding must have made him sentimental. But... “Mycroft!” he said too loudly.

“Yes?” Mycroft replied quietly without turning around but stood still.

“Come back. Since you’ve burdened yourself with coming all the way from your posh big house to the depths of my modest flat.” Sometimes he couldn’t believe himself he was talking like that. Why did he always have to be so rude, arrogant and annoying to Mycroft? He knew all too well his intentions were good.

“If you are sure you can bear having me around,” Mycroft answered with a question in his voice, and it came out a little shy.

Shy? _Mycroft_? The day had been obviously not done him good at all. He was having hallucinations already.

He watched his brother coming back to the bed. His eyes were getting more and more used to the darkness and he could see Mycroft looking at him. In a strange way. But, well, it was dark after all and probably his look was his usual one. Full of arrogance, convinced that he knew everything better than Sherlock. _Oh it must be so delightful to be so sure of yourself_. Well, not that Sherlock was not sure of himself. But somehow he never was with Mycroft around. Silly, that all. Would they ever get over their childhood _(childish)_ resentments?

Mycroft had reached the bed again. He stood in front of it, not knowing what to do. Sherlock had sat up and was staring at him. Mycroft could hardly see his eyes over these ridiculous cheekbones but he guessed Sherlock looked upset now.

Nobody said a word for what seemed to be ages. “Sit down for God’s sake, you are making me nervous!” Sherlock finally demanded.

 _Nervous_... Yes, that was one word for how Mycroft felt. What the hell was he doing here? Ready to play chess in the middle of the night? Singing a lullaby for Sherlock? Holding his hand? Tousle his hair and tell him everything would be all right? Mycroft shook his head over himself. But since Sherlock had asked him to stay (in his usual polite way to speak with him) he would do it.

Mycroft looked around. There was nothing to sit on. The room seemed to be very neat as far as he could see; he had never been in his brother’s bedroom before. But there was no chair at all.

“Just take a seat on the bed,” Sherlock said impatiently.

Mycroft shrugged and did as he was told. He sat down as far as possible away from his brother’s face.

There was silence again. All at once Sherlock reached to the side and turned the light on. Mycroft moaned at the pain it brought to his eyes.

“Why did you do that?” Mycroft complained, shielding his face from the lamp.

“Because I want to know what you are doing here. Let me guess, you expected to find me with a needle in my arm. Why, because of John’s fucking wedding? Come on, Mycroft!”

Mycroft was shocked about Sherlock’s rude choice of words. He never talked liked that. Both of them had grown up in a sophisticated environment, visited the best schools and universities. People like them were just not being that... _ordinary_. Sherlock must have taken some kind of drug.

Sherlock watched his brother tense when he heard the f-word out of his mouth. And then saw how he came to the conclusion that the drugs were talking out of him. Even though he had wanted to provoke a shocked reaction, this thought bothered him enormously.

“Don’t look at me like that, brother! Like a bloody nun who heard someone swearing for the first time in her life!” he said sharply. “I am totally clean. I’m just pissed off! Oh, sorry, I did it again!”

Mycroft stared at him in agony. Sherlock’s light blue eyes were sparkling with anger. His hands were grabbing the sheets, without him even noticing as it seemed. He looked more upset than Mycroft had ever seen him. “I’m sorry, Sherlock,” he rather whispered while standing up. “I see you are sober. I didn’t want to make you angry. I will leave now. Just sleep. Good night.”

“Please don’t go.”

Mycroft couldn’t believe his ears. He slowly turned around and his eyes met Sherlock’s.

“I’m sorry, too. Maybe one day I will be able to... not be so passive-aggressive to you. Wouldn’t bet on it though,” Sherlock said in a tone Mycroft did not immediately recognise.

Then he did. He sounded sad. Resigned. Hopeless. And in that moment Mycroft realised that this was like he was feeling as well. Which he would never admit to anyone. There had never been anyone in his life he could have trusted. Anyone... but Sherlock. Who was nevertheless the last one he could talk to about his feelings. Telling him he was feeling sad and hopeless? Snarky Sherlock would have a field day...

Sherlock looked at Mycroft, seeing the expression on his face change from pity for his brother (how shameful for himself) to a deep tone of depression. All at once something was swelling in his heart that he had never felt before about his brother. A deep affection. And trust. Now that John was gone, Mycroft was the only person he could really trust. He had always known Mycroft would do anything for him. He would give his life for Sherlock. He owed his older brother a lot. “Get undressed and stay overnight,” he said without thinking.

Mycroft opened his eyes widely and stared at him.

Sherlock was about to say something like, _'Oh come on, I’m not going to rape you,'_ but the words stayed in his throat. Instead he dimmed the glaring light down so it resembled the light of a candle.

“I need you tonight, Mycroft. Please stay.” _Because it damn looks like you need that too…_

Mycroft did not say a word and stood there, not knowing what to do. Which was exactly what he had done since he’d had the mad idea to enter this flat. But then he slowly took his shoes off, then his shirt. Sherlock said he needed him. He sounded as if... he wanted to change his behaviour towards Mycroft. There was hope Sherlock would let him into his life. He would not pass this chance.

Sherlock felt the mattress move a bit when Mycroft slipped under the big blanket. He was only wearing a pair of white boxer shorts. All at once Sherlock stiffened. Even though Mycroft was not close enough to really touch him, he could feel the warmth of his brother's lean body and could sense the fresh smell of his aftershave and shower gel. It was not bad. Just so... strange. There had never been anybody who had shared the bed with him. God knew where this crazy idea to ask Mycroft to stay had come from.

“Thank you,” Mycroft said quietly but startled Sherlock nevertheless. “Good night, brother mine.”

Sherlock did not reply and didn’t switch off the light. He turned his head to watch Mycroft who could hardly look him in the eyes. Looked at him as if he had never truly seen him before. Had he ever seen him out of an expensive suit? Certainly, when he was a kid. But he couldn’t remember it. Even though he didn’t know why he scanned the other man’s almost naked body. Saw the chest hair ( _a lot_ ) on the pale skin. A pink ( _big_ ) nipple, almost covered in this unexpected amount of reddish hair. He felt a very unwelcome feeling roaring in his stomach. How stupid. This was his _brother_ for heaven’s sake. Not... John... Not that he had ever lied next to John like that... or would ever do...

Mycroft felt extremely exposed lying next to Sherlock, almost naked. Sherlock seemed to inspect him. The detective himself was wearing pyjamas. A thin piece of silky, dark blue fabric covering his thin, lean, delicate body. Delicate? He was losing his mind obviously. He finally needed to sleep. He had definitely worked too hard again. And why did Sherlock leave the bloody light on?

He heard Sherlock whispering something he did not understand. “I’m sorry?”

“Why are you feeling sad?”

“Who said that I am?” Mycroft replied after pausing for too long.

“Oh come on. I know you, you know...”

Mycroft was suddenly feeling like walking over a minefield. Why did he? Ridiculous, this all. “Be assured, little brother, I’m not sad at all. We should sleep now.”

“Yes, sure. Good night, Mycroft,” Sherlock answered almost inaudibly and finally lay back into the pillows.

They were silent for some long minutes but Mycroft was not sleepy at all and he knew that Sherlock was still awake as well. Without looking at Sherlock he asked: “Why did you call me this morning? At the wedding?”

Sherlock didn’t say anything for a while. “I was feeling... out of place,” he finally replied. “Wanted you to come over to... I don’t know... just be there.”

The last words were spoken so quietly that Mycroft again had trouble understanding them. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I should have come. Be there for you.”

“You’re here now.”

“I just couldn’t, you know,” Mycroft added.

“Of course. Important government matters. Or Secret Service problems that needed to be solved?”

“No, it was just... I didn’t want to see him leaving your life for good,” Mycroft said much to his own surprise. When did it get so easy to talk to Sherlock so freely? Especially after his brother had started mocking him again...

“What do you mean? Why should that bother you?”

“I  just... can’t bear seeing you sad...”

“Oh...well, thank you for not showing up so you didn’t have to feel uncomfortable,” Sherlock said with a bitterness that surprised Mycroft totally.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. I should have been there for you. I will do what I can to make you feel better.” He reached out and took Sherlock’s left hand that was lying on the blanket.

Sherlock froze. His voice sounded raspy and somehow trembling when he coldly answered: “As we both agreed earlier, I’m not a child anymore.”

 _Oh no, you are not. You are the most complicated, annoying, desirable man to have ever walked the earth_ , Mycroft thought. Then _he_ froze. Desirable? He was really getting crazy... In an instant he took his hand away. He knew he should leave. At once. But he stayed as if he was pinned on the bed and just said toneless: “I know, Sherlock.”

The feeling of Mycroft’s long warm fingers clenching around his almost gave Sherlock a heart attack. Especially when they grabbed him even harder after his frosty reply, and then left his hand. The loss of the totally unexpected contact went straight to his heart, he felt a sharp pain inside him he had never experienced before.

All the tough times he had gone through these past two years since the threat by Moriarty had started, his never outspoken love for John, the return that had gone so wrong and now the loss of any chance to ever be with him... had simply broken his heart. It was the first time that he admitted that to himself. He had known he loved John from the moment he arrived at Baker Street to visit their potential joint flat. But John had made so clear he wasn’t interested in men at all that he could never tell him that. Until today and John took it as just a friend's love. To his total devastation he felt tears filling his eyes, and an even stronger pain grabbing his heart.

Without thinking he rolled over and buried his face on Mycroft’s bare chest, then rubbed it into the side of his long neck while embracing his slim ( _almost naked_ ) body, breathing in a mixture of perfume, a tiny shade of sweat, and the totally unknown scent of Mycroft’s warm body.

Mycroft’s heart almost stopped when Sherlock literally threw himself on him and his face touched his naked chest, then snuggled under his ear, his hand touching the side of his body. Mycroft automatically embraced his brother’s all-too-thin body and stroke his thick black curls. He felt wetness on his neck. Sherlock was crying? “Sherlock, baby, it’s okay, please, don’t cry,” he whispered, and Sherlock raised his head, his eyes fixating Mycroft’s.

“Baby?” he said and Mycroft felt his face blushing.

“Well...” he started, then broke off.

Sherlock gazed at him with an inexplicable look, then he stroked Mycroft’s hairy belly.

“Your diet is going great, the training really paid out,” he mocked him quietly and through his tears he smiled at his brother. “A shave would be convenient though.”

Mycroft smiled back automatically until he realised what Sherlock had done and how his body reacted to his much too intimate touch. More precisely, a special part of his body reacted by getting hard. “Oh my God,” he almost shouted and rushed up, pushing Sherlock back unintentionally, which had his brother ending on the floor beside the bed with a loud row and a curse.

“Oh my God!” Mycroft said again. “Are you okay?” He jumped out of the bed himself, forgetting his aroused status.

Sherlock found himself on the hard floor, more surprised than hurt. “I’m fine, nothing happened,” he said while shaking his head. He looked up to Mycroft who reached out his hand to help him up... and stared directly at the big bulge in his brother’s white boxers. “Oh...” was all he could say with his eyes wide open, looking at something he had never expected to see.

“I’m so sorry,” Mycroft said, running to his clothes which lay in a pile on the floor. “I will go now. Oh God...” He almost stumbled while fighting with his trousers.

Sherlock was up on his feet in a second and reached Mycroft after two steps. ”No, don’t go,” he said.

Mycroft stared at him, his face dark red.

Sherlock made another step until their faces were only two inches apart from each other. “I need you now, you can’t leave,” he said calmly.

Mycroft couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. Sherlock stood before him in this ridiculous nightwear, gazing at him, obviously neither shocked nor embarrassed by Mycroft’s reaction to him. But then, he had provoked it by touching him like that. All of a sudden he understood. “Oh Sherlock, I know you wanted to have John like that. Although this stupid little man never even noticed it. You are projecting these feelings on me now. I tell you what, I will leave you alone now and you go finally back to sleep and tomorrow... the world will look better to you,” he finished lamely, glad that his erection had disappeared.

Then Sherlock kissed him on the mouth while closing his arms around his neck and pressing his slim, hard body against Mycroft’s, and the hardness came back with full force.

Mycroft was so surprised that he opened his mouth to Sherlock’s searching tongue and reacted to the deep kiss that Sherlock was demanding. Wondering if Sherlock had ever kissed anyone like that before (if he hadn’t, of which he was convinced, he was a natural talent also in this field), he embraced his brother and felt his equally hard ( _very big_ ) cock through the light fabric pressed to his crotch.

Then he finally realised what was happening and broke off the ( _all too sweet_ ) kiss and freed himself from the embrace. “Sherlock, don’t be absurd,” he said with a voice he hated for trembling. “This cannot continue, we’re brothers for God’s sake!”

Sherlock gazed at him with these impossibly blue-green eyes. “And of course normal people don’t do such things. I agree, but then we are not normal people!”

“We may be not, but some rules are for everybody,” Mycroft answered desperately.

Sherlock looked down on his almost naked body. “Well, I can see the _other_ head doesn’t quite share this opinion.”

Mycroft stared at him while a mixture of feelings was overwhelming him. Guilt, shame, terror... and an undeniable desire... and deep love for the man in front of him. If he pushed Sherlock back now and left, their relationship would be destroyed forever. Sherlock would never forgive him his refusal. And if he stayed and give in to an impossible situation that could only end miserably, both of them would be doomed forever...

“If we do that, there is no way back,” he desperately said. “People could find out and then...”

“Yes, you could not visit the Queen for tea anymore,” Sherlock mocked him. “You want it, Mycroft, you should see your pupils now. I can hardly see the iris anymore.” He grabbed his brother’s wrist. “And your pulse is racing.” He shifted his other hand and touched his brother’s face gently. “You said you would do anything to make me feel better.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean...having sex with you!”

“I’m not asking you for having sex with me, Mycroft,” Sherlock gently said without any hint of mocking anymore. “I’m asking you for making love to me.”

Mycroft’s soul almost crumbled when he heard those words. Yes, this was all about love. All his care and trying to save Sherlock from the drugs and the dangerous situations he was bringing himself in all the time was out of his love for his little brother. And who did he want to fool, he had always known at the bottom of his heart that Sherlock’s attractiveness did not leave him cold. Sherlock was simply the most beautiful man he had ever met; Mycroft did have his share of (male) lovers when he had been younger but he had eventually refrained from having sex at all when he realised he was not really interested in any of them. He hardly ever saw Sherlock so he had never understood he was the reason for this, but now, with him being so close, his taste still on his lips, he had to admit to himself that it had been Sherlock who had made him unavailable for the men who had wanted to be with him. That he had always unconsciously compared them to the sheer perfection that was his little brother.

He knew he should be the sensible man, the one keeping a clear head and tell Sherlock this could never happen. But here they were, both so alone, so strange and not really belonging in this world ( _of goldfish_ ). Who else than the other one would ever really understand them? Could cope with them? Live up to their equally brilliant minds? Even without the fear that Sherlock would finally break if Mycroft refused what he was asking, Mycroft just knew that it would be the two of them together or both of them staying alone forever. He could not do that to Sherlock and, he finally realised, not to himself.

“Yes,” he said with a deep raspy voice, “I want you. More than anything in the world. We both know nobody may ever know about this, but hell, I want it, too.” _God help me._

Sherlock was feeling as if a shot of pure joy had hit his heart. He looked at the taller man with the melting, loving, wanting, disturbed, frightened look in his beautiful blue eyes and finally understood that this was what had always been between them. He had not wanted to be like Mycroft all his life, he had wanted to have him. He had not struggled to compete with his older brother to gain his respect and attention only, he had also done it to prove himself worthy of being with him. And now the love he saw in Mycroft’s gaze overwhelmed him, had his heart overflowing with an almost painful love of his own. “Nobody will ever know it, Mycroft, I swear. Just you and me,” he whispered while wrapping his arms again around Mycroft’s neck, snuggling his face against Mycroft’s.

 _Who is John again_ , he asked himself while their lips met, very slowly and deliberately, the heat of this kiss increasing fast, their cocks pressed together, Mycroft’s big hands massaging his bums rhythmically, holding him, having him melt away.

Finally Sherlock freed himself from the tight embrace. “Please Mycroft, we need to stop.”

Mycroft immediately let him go, startled. _Oh no, he changed his mind..._ “What’s wrong, do you...”

“Nothing, you git, but if we go on like that, I will just come in my pants,” Sherlock said with an adorable twinkle in his eyes.

Mycroft couldn’t help but grin widely, relieved that Sherlock didn’t regret the kiss. **_The_** _kiss_. And deep inside he was a little proud that he had such an impact on him. “Oh, we don’t want that to happen so soon,” he stated cheerily. “Although I think you might be ready soon again, given your age.”

“Well, I don’t know... I... just have never... done it,” Sherlock said, looking down on his feet.

Mycroft could feel his heart jump. “Oh, I see. Well, we have all the time in the world to find out what you like. I promise you, I will make it unforgettable for you. Interesting, though...”

“What?”

“That... Sorry to bring this up now... Moriarty was right about that...”

“Oh, that... Well, he wasn’t quite right about you, was he?”

“No, he definitely wasn’t,” Mycroft replied happily. He had never felt less like an _Iceman_ before.

“So that’s why you always told me to not get involved,” Sherlock teased with an adorable smile. “Because you wanted me to be involved only with _you_.”

“Well... yes... I guess so.” Why had he not realised that before?

“But you were wrong about the other mantra.”

“Which one?”

“Caring sometimes _is_ an advantage.” With this Sherlock kissed him again, this time tenderly and carefully, with closed eyes.

Mycroft held him tight again, knowing this was the best day of his life. And it was just the beginning.

After some long minutes of the most wonderful kissing he could imagine, Mycroft finally broke it off. “Come back to bed, honey,” he whispered and took Sherlock’s hand. “Let me make love to you.”

Sherlock just nodded and followed him to the bed. Mycroft sat down on it and looked up to his brother.

“Why don’t you take the jacket off and I take care of these,” he said while freeing Sherlock from the pants. Sherlock smiled and stepped out of them, while he was getting rid of the top.

Mycroft could just stare at Sherlock for a long minute. His body was not perfect. It was _angelic_. His skin was so white, his nipples hard and surprisingly dark. He could see Sherlock’s ribs a bit more than he liked but the sculpted look of his stomach and the muscular thighs made his mouth water. And then his really big cock, standing straight up, the knob shiny and already freed from the foreskin.

“Well, will you actually _do_ make love to me or will you just continue inspecting me for the rest of the night?” Sherlock asked, but with only a hint of his usual mocking and an indulgent and tender smile on his face.

“Sorry, dear, please, lie down.”

Sherlock did as he was told and Mycroft climbed up to him and laid his full body straight on Sherlock’s. Mycroft’s weight pressed their erections together which was a little painful but even more arousing.

For a moment they looked each other deep in the eyes, then they kissed again. Finally Mycroft’s lips left Sherlock’s and he started kissing Sherlock’s neck, licking down to the exquisite collarbones, drawing lines with his tongue and lips. Sherlock started... well, Mycroft couldn’t put it any other way, purring like a huge cat while his hands were constantly touching and rubbing Mycroft’s shoulders and head. But then he put his hands under Mycroft’s chin and forced him to look up to him.

“Mycie, before we really get started...”

“Yes?” Mycroft held his breath while staring into Sherlock’s eyes. _Were there going to be conditions?_

“I want to make two things clear before,” Sherlock said quietly. “The first one is, whatever you do to me, don’t apologise for it. Not in this moment and never after. I’m at your hands and I trust you. I know whatever you do, I will enjoy it. And I will definitely not regret it.”

Mycroft suddenly had something in his throat. “Promised,” he finally managed to reply. “What is the second one?”

“I love you.”

Now Mycroft could feel tears coming to his eyes. Probably for the first time in his life. His heart felt as if it was about to burst. Nobody had ever said these words to him before, and coming from Sherlock, the so called high-functioning sociopath, being clearly meant absolutely seriously, they meant even more. “Oh Sherlock, I love you, too.” Another premiere...

He got up and kissed Sherlock again, this time with open eyes, their gazes burning into each other’s. “I love you so much,” Mycroft said again and shuddered when Sherlock touched his face.

“Prove it to me, Mycie,” he whispered. “Oh please show me now.”

He’s like a very lively Greek statue, Mycroft thought when his face went down to lick Sherlock’s right nipple with the tip of his long tongue. He let his tongue flickering to the left one as well, then draw a line from it to Sherlock’s navel. All the time he could hear his brother breathe loudly and feel his long fingers caressing his neck and shoulders. Besides Sherlock’s panting the flat was totally silent. Mycroft thought for a moment they should have put on some soft music, but decided that he wouldn’t want to be distracted from the wonderful noises that Sherlock made.

“Please, take my cock in your mouth,” Sherlock begged him when Mycroft continued drawing circles around his navel.

Mycroft was surprised again by Sherlock’s choice of words, but this time they just turned him on enormously.

“As you wish,” he said with a smile and closed his right hand around the hard and throbbing shaft before he licked over the shiny head.

“Oh, my... oh...”

Mycroft smiled wider and looked up to Sherlock but he had closed his eyes and was biting on his lip.

Mycroft finally allowed himself to take in Sherlock’s cock, slowly, carefully, down to the root while constantly licking the underside. He had not given a blowjob for years but obviously he still knew how to do it, and he was rewarded with a very loud moan. He knew he should tell Sherlock to watch his noises, but he didn’t really care if Mrs. Hudson was home now and could hear him. His brother was having the first sexual experience of his life and he would be damned if he spoilt that.

“Sorry,” Sherlock said to his surprise while playing with Mycroft’s ear. “I will try to be quieter. But this is so good!”

Mycroft chuckled. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I don’t like it. I love it!”

Mycroft smiled again, then he got back to work. He started playfully, let his tongue slid under the foreskin and licked the soft flesh, teased the dripping slit and tasted the salty pre-come while he was listening to Sherlock’s constant moaning which was the sweetest music he had ever heard. He licked the big balls, carefully stretching them with his hand, weighing them, kissing them, sucking them in separately. Sherlock moved up and down on the sheets, his feet were working on the bed the whole time.

Mycroft was rubbing his own almost hurting erection on the cool sheets, being aroused much stronger than he had ever been in his life. He knew he was almost torturing Sherlock with his teasing and decided to go full force. His hand started working the long shaft with more power, his mouth sucked harder and harder on the big, pink knob, occasionally swallowing the whole prick. His fingers went searching and finding Sherlock’s opening, and he just touched it, drew circles around it.

Finally Sherlock’s grip around his head tightened, his entire body tensed and he pressed his cheeks together, lifting his cute round arse from the matrass to push even further in Mycroft’s mouth. “Oh Mycie, I will... oh...”

Then he literally exploded down his brother’s throat. Mycroft could hardly handle it but managed to swallow the complete amount of sperm while watching Sherlock collapse on the bed. He started stroking his own dripping cock but Sherlock grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t do that, Mycie, just wait until I can move again and I will take care of you.”

Mycroft smiled and nodded. “I know you learn fast, Sherlock. And it will be very easy to finish me off.”

Sherlock raised a brow. “You know I love challenges, my dear brother. We will wait until you are perfectly calm again, then I will pay you back what you just did for me. And by the way, thank you. It was... beyond words.”

Mycroft grinned at him. “You are most welcome. But if you want me perfectly calm I will have to have a cold shower for the next two hours. And we don’t want that, do we?” He was actually sure that the longest cold shower in the world could not make him get rid of his unbelievable erection.

But Sherlock didn’t match the playful tone. “What you made me feel, it was... unbelievable... impossible... I want it to be the same for you. Please, come up to me.”

Mycroft lay next to him, they embraced each other’s bodies, their legs intertwined, and shared another of these breathtaking kisses.

“Why did we waste so much time, Mycie?” Sherlock finally asked, his hand reaching up to touch Mycroft’s face gently. „All the fighting and stupid behaviour, why did we not do _this_ instead?”

Mycroft smiled, then he grew serious. “Because we had to reach a point on which we inevitably realised that it’s us or nothing. And you know what, holding you like that, kissing you - it already feels as if it had always been like that.”

“Yes, that’s so amazing. I could just lie here forever, just kissing you; tasting you is better than any drug.”

“Wow, what a compliment,” Mycroft mocked him and tousled his thick curls. But he had cringed about this statement. _Oh Sherlock, if I just had known that this was all that was needed to keep you from destroying yourself, I would have done it much earlier. To hell with the consequences._

“I know,” Sherlock whispered to his surprise.

“My God, can you read my thoughts now?”

“No, but I can read your face. Don’t worry, brother, these times are over. And I wouldn’t be here with you like that if all this shit hadn’t happened. So be thankful for the drugs. I know I am...” The kissed again, very deliberately and full of a feeling that _love_ was a completely insufficient word for.

“And now, brother mine, it’s my turn,” Sherlock finally said and got up with a smile full of promise and determination.

“I can’t wait,” Mycroft answered with a big grin. Inside he was a little cringing again, this time over the words _brother mine_. He should perhaps ask Sherlock to stop calling him by that expression. But then, they still were brothers. _Brothers in arms._

“Why are you laughing?” Sherlock, who had started touching his chest, looked at him a little confused and defensive.

“Nothing, little brother.” Mycroft drew Sherlock close to him and kissed him on the mouth. “Go on, baby. I’m at your hands. Make me happy.”

Sherlock grinned. “Oh, I will. But I will also make you _scream_!”

Mycroft cupped his beautiful face with both hands. “Oh, I really can’t wait.”

Sherlock turned around on the bed so his face was on the same level as his brother’s crotch. He looked up to Mycroft’s blue eyes and still couldn’t believe to see the love and care in them. He had to have been blind his whole life to overlook that. He was unbelievably excited about what was going to happen between them, after this mind-blowing blowjob. Of course he knew it would take time and practice for him to satisfy Mycroft equally as perfectly, but he was determined to let him crawl up the wall with pleasure as fast as he could.

He let his hand slide softly over Mycroft’s still hard member. It was perfectly shaped, about nine inches long and much thicker than he had expected. The pink flesh felt incredibly soft and hot, and he was especially surprised that the foreskin was cut so he could easily tease the big dark pink head which led to a nice moan from his brother. Sherlock winked and then just bent over and licked over the full shaft.

“Oh Sherlock, please do that again!” Mycroft demanded with a groan.

Sherlock smiled at him. “Is this agreeing with you?” he asked playfully and licked over it again.

“Oh yes...”

It was a strange feeling to take the big dick in his mouth. The taste was awesome, somehow wild and strong and sweet. Sherlock closed his lips around it, carefully watching not to use his teeth, which was harder than he had thought. But he found a steady rhythm, let it slide in and out, taking the half of it first, then more with every slide. He tickled at the big balls, slightly drawing at them. Mycroft was panting fast, pressing his fingers in Sherlock’s shoulders, painfully hard, but Sherlock loved it.

This was the most intimate moment of his life. He had always dreamt about it but never had had enough trust in anyone to let it happen. That it had to be with a man had been clear to him all his life. All at once a memory came to his mind, he had been around thirteen and it had been one of the rare summers that Mycroft, seven years older, had spent at home, back from university. They had gone swimming at a lake nearby, and Sherlock could see Mycroft in his memory, in his tight black swim shorts, his tall lean body glittering with water. And he remembered what he had thought, that his brother was so handsome, so manly, and so gay. He had turned around and gone home, his face glowing, his body shivering from a desire he could not understand. Until now...

“Sherlock, I’m close, please, get it out!” Mycroft sat up, his body covered in sweat, his hair adorably tousled and curling, his gaze unsteady of desire as if he was drugged.

But of course Sherlock didn’t take Mycroft’s cock out of his mouth. Instead he sucked harder at it, let his hand slide between his brother’s cheeks, rubbing the most intimate spot on his body _. I want to lick him there_ , he thought, when Mycroft finally climaxed with a real scream.

The thick fluid shot in Sherlock’s throat, making him choke for a moment, but then he just enjoyed the taste and the power he felt that he had caused Mycroft to having such an explosive orgasm.

Mycroft finally collapsed on the bed, breathing very fast; Sherlock could have sworn he could hear his heart hammering in his chest. He climbed up and rested his head on it and yes, it was _racing_. He felt Mycroft’s arms embracing him, enjoyed the warmth of his body, his touch on his bare back. Then Mycroft somehow managed to get the blanket around their bodies, keeping them warm. “Oh Sherlock, that was so...” He broke off, obviously missing the right words.

Sherlock smiled and kissed a hard nipple. “I know. I was there.” He got up and rested on his elbow. “I just want it to be like that forever. Don’t wake up tomorrow and think this was a mistake. Because it wasn’t.”

Mycroft shook his head. “No, honey, I’m not going to do that. I’m yours now and you’re mine, as long as you want it to be this way.”

Sherlock smiled at him and his heart almost jumped out of his chest when he saw the love in Sherlock’s face.

“I won’t let you slip away again, that’s for sure. You’re stuck with me for good.”

“Good,” Mycroft replied and kissed him, their tongues finding each other as if had always been that way.

Mycroft knew that he had been right. It had been a danger night. But the danger was beyond them now. Of course there would be challenges. They would have to be so very careful about their relationship. If criminals had known before Sherlock was his weak spot they would have much more ammunition now. Beside the point that if anyone found out, Mycroft’s career would be over. But Mycroft just knew they would make it work. It was worth it.

“I love you, brother mine,” he said softly and felt Sherlock’s hand caress his face.

“I know, Mycroft. But not half as much as I love you.”

“Oh, twice as much.”

“You will still always try to have the last word, right?”

“Never change a winning team, Sherlock!”

“God, I love you.”

They kissed again for almost fifteen minutes and Mycroft felt as if he would just melt away. He was so happy. Finally he broke off the kiss and caressed Sherlock upper lip with his thumb. “By the way, Sherlock, what you did with your hand before...”

“Oh, you mean... touching your...”

“My entrance, yes. Do you think you could someday... let your tongue explore it...?”

“Oh Mycroft... I’m getting hard again!”

“The night is still young!”

“Alright... Turn around...”

“Now?”

“Remember, we won’t waste any time anymore. And you don’t get younger.”

“Charming, Sherlock!”

“So, let me see... Nice... You like that?”

“Oh, Sherlock...”

“Yes, just like that I think!”


End file.
